


Tea With Alice

by Blazonix



Series: The Path to Wonderland [1]
Category: Alice In Wonderland - Lewis Carroll, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:55:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26591773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blazonix/pseuds/Blazonix
Summary: There is a garden as lovely as a dream. Sitting in the midst of it is a man in a tall hat with a price tag proclaiming “In this style 10/6.” Familiar green eyes flash at you, and he beckons you to sit with him."Welcome, Alice," he says.(It's always six, never seven. Always tea, never coffee. Always Alice.Always.)
Series: The Path to Wonderland [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2190096
Comments: 13
Kudos: 95





	Tea With Alice

The garden is as lovely as a dream: dotting the bottom of a white picket fence are flowers in full bloom, branches above dip down with colorful petals strewn amid different shades of green, and butterflies dart to and fro as a slight breeze has the flowers dance in a colorful symphony.

Or it would be lovely if he wasn’t stuck seeing this same scenery day in, day out.

“If I could burn it all down, at least it’d be something new to look at, I reckon,” he mutters to himself.

Pulling out a dented, golden pocket watch, he takes a glance at it before sighing and tucking it away without a word. He looks to his right, but the chair there remains empty.

No matter how long he’s been at this, the wait always gets to him.

Leaning back in his large armchair, he shifts until his furry cushion lets out a squeak. He only barely refrains from taking out his pocket watch again. Instead, he idly taps his fingers together; there’s no feeling through the gloves.

The tea kettle in front of him lets out a scream. Straightening up, he tilts his hat into a more precarious position and picks up a teacup with his best smile. It begins steaming as if full of freshly poured tea.

The lace tablecloth flutters ominously before elaborate sweets appear out of nowhere. Cute, animal-shaped cookies frosted in bright colors line each dish between gumballs of differing sizes; he supposes his guest will be on the young side this go around.

The garden door opens, and a little girl in a blue dress enters with tiny, faltering steps. She takes in the long table, the many mismatched chairs, and the man in the tall hat with wide eyes.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Alice,” he says cheerfully before the silence can drag on.

“I’m not Alice,” the girl mumbles while clutching at the skirt of her dress.

He takes a sip from his teacup and nearly flinches. Today’s tea is awful. Who thought cinnamon and spearmint went together? Looneys, that’s who.

Placing the cup gently back onto its saucer, he sends the nervous girl another bright smile, but it only serves to put her more on edge. Honestly, he’s not good with the shy ones.

“Oh, but you are Alice. Even if you aren’t. But here, you definitely are. Have to be, in fact,” he says with certainty.

Alice stares at him for a long while before replying just as certain,

“You’re crazy.”

“I’m mad,” he corrects. “We all are here in Wonderland. Rather unfortunate, really.”

He’s mad but not looney. Big difference there.

“Wonderland?” Alice tests out the name quietly. “Is that where I am?”

“If that’s where you think you are.” His smile dims a bit.

Is this Wonderland? Yes and no. Could he explain it better than that? Probably, but poor Alice is doomed to never get a straight answer. There are rules he must abide to even if he hates them with the power of a thousand bombarda.

He snaps his fingers, and the chair at the end of the table swivels around. The girl jumps in fright.

“Alice, won’t you have some tea with me?” He asks with a hand held out towards the chair.

The garden door closes without a sound.

The garden is as lovely as a dream: flowers sway in a breeze as leaves dance in an unheard song, a stone path leads to a lace-covered table, and butterflies weave between dazzling cakes to reach the blooms overhead.

He can’t stop thinking that it’d all look better in neon colors and polka dots instead of this pastel rubbish.

He checks his pocket watch just as the kettle screams. Hurriedly, he puts the watch away to sip on a randomly chosen teacup. He chokes immediately. Today’s tea is so spicy it brings tears to his eyes.

He reaches for a piece of cake to soothe the fire raging through his tongue. His elbow catches the butter dish, and it goes soaring towards the kettle. Aggrieved, the kettle decides to take most of the teacups with it by exploding.

The panicked butterflies dart over the picket fence and fade from existence. He spares them no mind; they’ll be back soon enough.

By the time Alice opens the garden door, the only thing left are a handful of cups, a tea-stained tablecloth, and drooping cakes. His furry cushion lets out a mournful squeak.

“Hello, Alice,” he says, wiping at his waistcoat futilely.

It’s an older girl this time. He’s given the pleasure of a rare sight: she wears a dark purple dress instead of a blue one.

“My name isn’t—”

“Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll pour you some tea?”

Not that there is any tea left, but it’s the principle of the thing.

He flings one of the remaining teacups towards the end of the table—it’s a large bowl-shaped one with horses painted on it—and snaps his fingers. Dear, brave Alice who has been approaching him fearlessly is scooped up by a chair and brought to the table; the only sign of surprise she shows is a widening of the eyes.

“But I—”

“The March Hare isn’t here today, so it’ll be only the three of us I’m afraid.”

He cuts a slice of cake in the shape of a sphere and throws it at Alice. The girl has quick reflexes and manages to bring up her large teacup in time to catch it. The cake settles in with a lovely swirl. 10 points, he mentally cheers.

“Three of us?” Alice asks warily.

“Humditzer-hi,” the Dormouse greets sleepily from beneath his rear end.

The girl shrieks as his furry cushion waves a paw before going back to sleep. He rubs his ear and tests his hearing with a hum. That was quite piercing.

“Mm-Mou,” the girl stutters while trembling pitifully.

“The Dormouse,” he nods in agreement, silently revising his opinion of the girl. “He’s not much company, I’m afraid.”

Dear, brave Alice with the exception of Dormice recoils in her chair. His attempts to cajole her into a conversation fail, and her gaze never wavers from his rear end which makes him uncomfortable.

He gives up trying to save this farce of a tea party and sends her on her way early. Unfortunately, that means he’s waiting even longer than normal.

Sighing, he puts his elbows on top on the table and stares into the abyss that lies past the fence line. If he squints, he thinks he can make out the shape of a castle.

“The roses look lovely. Bit of a shame they’re all red,” he says absentmindedly.

The giant mouse he sits on says nothing.

The garden is as lovely as a dream: a white picket fence borders a table covered in lace, topped with elegant desserts and cups of tea. Flowers wrap lovingly around each other as butterflies flutter about on dazzling wings.

The screaming of a kettle breaks the peaceful atmosphere.

He bites on the fingertip of his glove the moment he catches sight of Alice. It’s not the first time he’s had an Unusual Alice, but it surprises him each time it happens.

“Alice, you’re here,” he greets.

“I’m a boy,” Alice tells him with a scowl.

“And your point is?”

“Alice is a girl’s name!” The boy yanks on the garden door to no avail.

Ignoring the furious movements that shake the fence, he pours tea into a small cup with pink flowers. Sliding it in a random direction, the cup stops before a glass dining chair.

He pokes the furry cushion beneath him.

“It’s musical chairs today,” he says to the Dormouse.

He snaps his fingers. The glass dining chair rushes towards Alice and knocks into the back of his knees. Alice yelps as he’s carried to the table; the dining chair slots nearly back into place.

“There are plenty of boys with the name Alice,” he says confidently before taking a sip of a tea.

Sort of sweet but not overly so. Perhaps he should try to get the Dormouse to have a cup. By ‘have a cup,’ he means pouring it down the mouse’s throat with a funnel.

“Yeah, who?” The boy’s attempts to squirm out of the chair fails.

“Dunno, but statistically speaking, there has to be at least one,” he says with a shrug.

His words are the last straw for rough and tired Alice, whose entire time in Wonderland has been nothing short of misery and woe.

“Everything is crazy here! I want to go home!” Alice throws everything in reach at his host.

“It would be nice to go home, wouldn’t it?” He muses while dodging each item effortlessly. “My son should be about your age, I think.”

Alice freezes.

“You have a son?”

“Hm? No, I don’t. What gave you that impression?” He blinks innocently.

“You just said it!”

“Did I? Well, I was thinking if I had a son, he’d be around your age. All grown up and going to school, defying death and learning how to break the rules like a true prodigy. Brings a tear to your eye, doesn’t it?” He blows his nose on a tissue at the thought.

“...how...wonderful…” The Dormouse breathes out while shedding a tear in sleep.

“You’re crazy,” Alice says flatly.

“Mad,” he corrects. “Use the ‘m’ word, please.”

Alice slumps as if sapped of all willpower to live, and he claps his hands with a bright smile. They don’t have much time left, but he knows exactly what will change the boy’s mood.

“Who’s ready for a party game?” He asks patronizingly.

His smile widens as Alice groans in anguish.

The garden is as lovely as a dream: a long, lace-covered table resides at the end of a stone path that leads from a white garden door. Butterflies and the subtle movement of flowers move back and to in a breeze that doesn’t seem to exist.

Somehow the pastel colors seem rather eerie when contrasted with the sweets lining the table. The pitch black desserts ooze with red icing like a warning.

 _Oh no_ , he dimly thinks, _it’s one of them_.

When the kettle screams, he can’t help but think it sounds more horrifying than normal.

The garden door swings open harshly, and for a moment he can see nothing but the shine of eyes. A girl in a dark blue dress drifts into the garden like a ghost to take a seat at the end of the table. He doesn’t let his gaze linger on the bloodstains covering her apron or the bruises littering her arms.

“Good day, Alice.” He pours them both a cup of tea; it comes out completely black.

The girl stares at him through a curtain of hair, and he finds himself hoping she’ll remain quiet. His hopes are dashed like usual.

“What would you say if I wasn’t Alice?” She asks slowly.

“I’d have to get rid of you because this tea party is only for Alice.” He smiles coldly.

“I see.”

He slides a cracked teacup down to her, and the girl picks it up gracefully. She doesn’t take a sip, and he doesn’t take one either. He’s willing to bet the tea is poisonous.

“What do you know of curses?” Alice finally asks after a long period of silence.

“I know if your best mate says the hat is cursed, it’s probably cursed,” he says wryly. “I also know curses are made to cause suffering.”

Alice runs a finger over the brim of her teacup and begins humming lullabies. She breaks up each song with a sound in between a sob and a cackle. He stares into his cup and wonders when it will end.

“This Wonderland is like a dream. A never-ending wonderful, horrible bad dream,” Alice chuckles. “It seems I have been cursed to never wake up from it.”

 _So I want to share my suffering_ , the girl’s eyes seem to say.

A bony hand moves towards a knife, and he snaps his fingers. The silverware disappears before Alice can grab anything. The girl pouts at him, and he averts his eyes.

He’s not afraid of Alice—after Voldemort, few things truly frighten him—but seeing her makes him unnerved. This Alice, once a normal little girl, has been deformed and twisted by the darkest parts of Wonderland.

If he’s not careful, he could end up just like her.

“Your eyes are green like a curse,” Alice remarks with a smile. “They must have caused a lot of suffering.”

He can say nothing to that.

The garden is as lovely as a dream: flowers and butterflies are the only things that dance in the stillness. The white garden door practically glows against the colors surrounding it. The tree branches cover up the abyss waiting beyond the fence line.

The tea kettle screams, and he thinks he does too.

The Alice that walks through the garden door holds her head high and examines the garden with hard eyes. She purses her lips and marches over to him. Alice takes a seat in the most luxurious chair, and he tips his hat to her.

“You are not my Mad Hatter,” she states sternly.

“But you are my dear Alice,” he replies gently.

Alice grabs the kettle and pours her own tea. It looks like a normal brew this time. Taking a whiff of it, he can smell berries and honey blended into black leaves.

“Where is the March Hare?” Alice demands after spying the Dormouse beneath him.

“Picked a fight with Death. Old chap wasn’t as forgiving as Time, I’m afraid.”

He salutes the seat beside him. He’d never seen a guy with bunny ears try to fistfight Death before. He’s honestly a bit jealous he didn’t think of doing it first. Too bad Death won’t come near him after what Time did.

“How long have you been trapped here?” Alice asks.

“Since six,” he answers vaguely.

“Seven is a much lovelier number than six, I should think.” Alice grabs a raisin biscuit; upon frowning at it, the raisins change to chocolate chips immediately.

“Any number would be better than six at this point.”

“True.”

If he ever gets out of here, he will probably develop a trauma of the number six, tea, and the name Alice. Never making it to the end of teatime is a far crueler punishment than he could have imagined.

Alice idly stirs a spoon full of sugar into her tea—the tea has changed to a more bitter flavor now—and stares at the white picket fence with narrow eyes.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

He straightens up at Alice’s words. Thoughts race through his head, and he can barely breathe. The rules are strict on what he can and can’t say, but this time he’s been _asked_.

“Can you,” _deliver a message_ , he tries to say but what comes out is, “give me a riddle?”

His tongue stays stuck to his teeth, and he knows the curse won’t allow him this. He sags in his chair and tries not to show an ugly face. If any Alice could have helped him, it would have been this one.

Alice purses her lips at him.

“Only if I am given one as well with a _hint_ ,” Alice says with a strange emphasis.

He blinks with wide eyes. He doesn’t dare hope—but— _maybe_.

“Alright then,” he inhales sharply. “You go first.”

“Oh, um, why is a raven like a writing desk?” Alice asks haltingly.

He doesn’t consider the question a strange one despite Alice’s odd expression. Wands, war, and schoolyard crushes come to mind immediately, and he answers with the air of one who has experienced it firsthand,

“Getting hit by either one of them hurts.”

“And...each one...is a bad place...to hide,” the Dormouse chimes in through the haze of sleep.

Alice takes out a notepad and a pencil from between the folds of her dress and writes each answer down. Even though he’s curious about it, he chooses to ponder seriously over his riddle instead of asking.

“My turn. What does the Moon say when it receives a letter?” He says carefully.

“I don’t know. What does it say?”

“Not another name!”

Alice taps her pencil against the notepad with furrowed brows. She repeats the riddle quietly before writing it down. He can almost see the smoke coming out of her ears. When it appears that she’s given up, he decides to poke fun at himself.

“Another riddle for you: what happens to something that is both frozen in and out of time?”

Alice gives him a pitying look.

“You are frightfully mad, aren’t you?”

He laughs.

The garden is as lovely as a dream.

But he can’t see it through the tears blurring his vision.

The kettle has been changed into a plant holder shaped like an elephant. The lace tablecloth is now tiger-striped cotton, and snow covers the slowly dying flowers along the polka-dotted picket fence.

It’s perfect. Oh, so perfect.

Dazed, silver eyes stay glued to the price tag attached to his hat. He thinks she’s avoiding his eyes out of guilt.

The chairs are now blue and bronze, all except one. His chair is now red and gold and embroidered with lions.

“Alice, you’re late,” he says for the final time.

Alice smiles at him gently and sorrowfully, and he can’t stop the tears from falling. The Dormouse pats his hand in farewell before rolling underneath the table. He doesn’t need to look to know that the large mouse has disappeared.

“Forgive me, Harry. There was a demanica pretending to be a cat, and he wanted to play, so I missed the tea party. Do you still have time?”

Alice places her wand behind her ear and moves around the table until she’s standing before him. His hands tremble, but he can’t find the strength to reach out to her.

She leans down and pulls him into a hug. The rules aren’t broken yet; he can’t say what he wants to, but it’s only a matter of time now.

He chokes out,

“I always have time for you, Alice.”

_Thank you for finding me, Luna._

The garden is as lovely as a dream, but he’s ready to wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> I may do an extra for this, but it's complete as of now.
> 
> Genuinely don't know what to tag this as.


End file.
